


It's Periodic

by ohnomatopoeia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, an AU in which keith and lance don't actually hate each other from the start, and also a mess, honey you've got a big storm coming. it's gonna get emotional, keith is an aspiring photographer, lance is a theatre major and struggling actor looking for his big break, they do dumb stuff together, this fic totally seems chill and happy right now huh. well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnomatopoeia/pseuds/ohnomatopoeia
Summary: “And I said to Pidge, ‘Oh, yeah. He’s the kinda guy to eat toothpaste’, and she looked at me all funny. But this Keith-guy, I really like him. He’s weird, kinda quiet, has a strange sense of humor, but I think he means well, y’know?”





	1. In which Lance finds an unlikely friend.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a mess.
> 
> update: possibly going to edit some of this in the future for small mistakes i didn't catch. we'll see.

_Another typical day_ , Lance thought as he slid the curtains to his living room window open. Pidge lay sprawled out on the couch, tinkering at another creation rooted from her own twisted mind. This afternoon was no different from any other, though she had picked up an older model that hadn't gotten any attention for months. She tweaked away, saying to Hunk, “My professor says I ought to give this little guy a chance,” she held up the oddly-shaped bot and rotated it in her palm, “says it’s got potential.”

Hunk glanced up from his GameBoy shortly, shrugging indifferently. “Yeah? What’s it do?”

“ _That’s just it,_ ” Pidge answered, “I don’t quite know yet. I think I want it to be an attachment to some other tech. I want it to connect with another computer and have it transfer files in a weightless, hands-free model. I dunno. It’s a work in progress.”

“I like the design,” Lance piped up, head poking over his shoulder. “You should give him a name.”

“ _Yeah_.” Something sparked in Pidge, a bashful smile crossing her lips thinly. “I _should_ do that.”

“Then?” Hunk had since set his GameBoy down on his chest momentarily.

“Rover. I like Rover.”

Hunk uttered a small laugh and went back to his game.

She continued, “If I can put a battery and maybe a tracker on it, I’d like for it to be portable. And some propeller-doohickey on the base could create independent motion. I don’t wanna have to steer it manually.” She elbowed Hunk. “Are you listening?”

“Hm?” Hunk blinked at her. “The, uh.. propeller. You could use solar energy, maybe?” He hadn’t been paying Pidge any attention and both of them knew that wouldn’t work.

“Simulated gravity,” Pidge thought aloud, drumming her fingers over the metal surface of her Rover.

 

 

Lance had stopped listening to their background elaboration then, his eyes focused on something else much more interesting. His stray grip remained on the curtains, absently stuck in between his last motion.

From his window, he could see someone reclined in a cozy nook nestled by a slightly open window. The breeze rustled his hair gently, Lance could see; his building and the stranger’s building were separated merely by a small alley. Said stranger glanced between a thickly-bound book and his phone. Lance could see he had trouble focusing on both at once, but he didn't necessarily appear to be busy.

The stranger looked up, and Lance felt a pair of hypnotic- he squinted to figure out whether they were blue or grey or some beautiful new color he'd never experienced before- eyes on him. Lance straightened his shoulders and sent a broad grin from window to window. The stranger sat up a little, smiling back in his own simple way, though Lance felt an invitation. He gave a little wave as an idea came to mind.

“Hunk? Is that whiteboard still in your room?”

He gave Lance an odd look. “Yeah. Why?”

“Can you bring the markers, too?” He knew Hunk kept a collection of fancy dry-erase markers in a little purple cup on his desk, at least last time Lance checked.

Hunk sighed at Lance’s shenanigans but otherwise did as told without questions asked. He returned with the little cup and board, meeting Lance halfway through the hallway and passing the markers and board.

He dragged over a stool from the kitchen counter and made himself comfortable, gesturing to the new friend he’d made. As neatly as Lance’s hands would allow, he wrote down, _Sorry for the wait, I’m Lance!_ in bold, blue letters. He held the board up to the window, facing the stranger and hoping it was clear enough to read. Strangely, the other person narrowed his eyes at the words and blinked slowly, quickly getting up and leaving the window.

Lance felt crushed that the new guy left. Maybe he'd been too pushy or... Lance looked back out the window to see, to his relief, the stranger back on his windowsill, rustling through a pile of papers and quickly sketching in some lettering. Although he made quick work of the phrase, the stranger seemed to take notice of the detail in his writing. Lance could always appreciate a keen eye in his peers.

The stranger flashed a blank page with _KEITH_ , written in fat, black font. If Lance paid close attention, he could see the thin ribbons of red shadowing the border of the letters. The stranger- Keith smiled, a flustered mess as he sorted through the spare pages with one hand.

Lance smudged away the ink with his sleeve. _Are you into art? You have nice handwriting!_

Keith took a moment to look over the words and Lance guessed he must've been short of vision. Though, his reply came just as quick on a new sheet of paper, _How did you guess? I’m into photography mostly._ A little doodle of a camera in the corner of the page.

Lance could have gone on like this for hours, just the entertainment of seeing Keith’s facial expressions shift between replies was enough to keep Lance busy all day. Except, Keith’s next note came with, _Do you have somewhere else we can chat?_

Lance figured Keith didn't like wasting the paper, or he maybe had a hard time reading from afar, or maybe Keith was taking this to the next level and- ... Lance was overthinking this.

“Hey, Pidge?” he called, followed by a hum of acknowledgement from the other. “How early is too early to give someone your number?”

“With you, Lance? Apparently there isn't a such thing as ‘too early’.” She gave air quotes at the phrase, snickering.

He rolled his eyes and jotted down the digits, his handwriting growing messier with each new note. Adding to that, Lance put, _Is this okay?_

Keith gave him a thumbs up after glancing the board over. He pulled out his phone.

Lance’s phone chimed in his pocket with an incoming message not a minute later.

 

**K** : _I see you._

**L** : _wow that's not creepy at all keith_

 

Lance’s texting skills weren't so great. He didn’t use much punctuation or capitalization, he hoped Keith wouldn't mind.

Keith looked through the window, visibly chuckling. Lance watched in amusement as his friend typed in with,

 

**K** : _That’s not the point. I’m trying to let you know I’m the mystery number._

**K** : _Don’t get ahead of yourself._

 

Lance’s lips curled back to a smirk, giving a roll of his eyes.

 

**L** : _well mister mystery, do you maybe wanna grab a drink with me when you’re free? i know this cool little place down the road_

**K** : _I’m free. And is it that one café I can see from my window?_

**L** : _that’s the one_

 

Lance followed up with another message quickly after,

 

**L** : _great minds think alike._

 

And then a third,

 

**L** : _come to my place?_

 

Keith looked over the message for a moment, his eyes drifting back up to see Lance through the window. The man remained perched on the high stool, one leg crossed over the other. He grinned at Keith, and if Keith focused enough, he could catch a little wink from Lance. He observed that Lance was on the third floor, same as himself, and counted first window on the right. That would be easy to track down.

 

**K** : _See you in five._

 

Keith shut his window and went to freshen up quickly, making himself look what he deemed “presentable”. He tugged at the hemline of his top, rolling the sleeves just over his elbows, which he thought looked rather hip. Lance dressed pretty casual, he saw, so Keith’s own attire shouldn't be much of a concern. He tied his hair back into a messy ponytail that hung over his shoulders, though his bangs and the hair thinning out on the back of his neck kept loose from the tie. Then out the door Keith went, snatching his wallet and keys in the process.

He strolled down the street briskly, the steady skid of tires on the asphalt constant in his ears. Lance’s building was just down the street from his, the entrance being on the opposite side of the building Lance resided in, so the walk continued on longer.

Keith found himself fidgeting anxiously in the elevator; tapping his foot, twisting a rebellious strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger, hooking his fingers in an empty belt loop, and then back out. _In and out, in and out._ He was surprised by his own behavior, why should he be so antsy about this? Lance was a nice guy. What could go wrong?

He stepped out of the shaft and strode down Résidences Étoiles Royales' third floor, making his way to the end of the hall and eyeing the door with the golden _C-24_ plaque. Straightening his back, he knocked at the door backhandedly. A few seconds of silence before a girl answered. She was short, looked unamused by the surprise visit, and definitely wasn’t Lance. “Can I help you?”

Keith blinked, registering slowly that somehow he must’ve gotten the wrong door. Had he gone left instead of right? Or maybe it was left all along. Keith took a frantic step back, ducking his head as he muttered a quick apology for the disturbance. The girl watched, bemused, as Keith sped off to the opposite side of the hall. He could practically _feel_ her eyes boring into his skull.

He stepped to door _C-16_ hesitantly, straightening himself up before he knocked. Before it opened, a good ten seconds of rhythmic thumping came from inside the room. _Thunk... thunk.. thunk...- clack._ A hunched-over, little elderly woman emerged from inside, a cane supporting her left hip and was also the source of the mysterious noise. She smiled at him, wrinkled lips pulling taut over tea-stained dentures. “You look lost, boy.”

Keith smiled shyly at the friendly comment and nodded a little. “I’m looking for a third floor apartment. The one that’s the first window on the right. I counted.”

“That's all the way down the hall, honey. The last door.” The woman gestured with a small hand, poking her head out into the hallway. “Have I seen you ‘round here before?”

Keith nodded again. “Possibly. I live in the next building. I... have a friend here, we’re window neighbors,” he explained, smiling bashfully. The woman thought about it for a moment, her voice croaking out after, "You the one with the camera?" _Ca-mer-a_. She stretched out the word with emphasis on all three syllables.

Keith's eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s me!”

“But why?”

“I’m studying photography, ma’am.”

Before he knew it, he’d made a new friend in Mrs. Graves, but regretted to have to dismiss himself. “I apologize, but I’m expected somewhere shortly. I hope to see you again, Mrs. Graves. It was wonderful meeting you.” Keith tipped his head as a farewell.

“You too, son. Take care.” She smiled, cane-free hand resting on her hip.

Keith left after, darting back to _C-24_ once again and letting his knuckles meet the door. This time the door opened, a bulky guy in pajamas answered, not the girl, _not Lance_. Keith frowned. “Do you live here?” He glanced over the guy’s shoulder. The room’s curtains matched Lance’s. This _had_ to be the place.

The imposter nodded. “Yeah. Can I help you with anything?”

“And the girl? Glasses? About this tall?” He gestured at his side to indicate short stature.

“You need Pidge?” He turned his back and called inside, “Pidge, were you expecting somebody?” followed by a disgruntled, “What?” from the girl called Pidge.

Keith interrupted, “No, no. I’m looking for someone else. He had a whiteboard and we were talking and-”

Keith was cut off as Lance poked his head over the larger guy’s shoulder, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Oh, Keith! You're early!” Lance's voice was energetic and lively, save for the toothbrush blocking his speech. Keith had been reading Lance's messages in a voice similar to this.

_I'm actually late_. Keith bit his tongue. He smiled warmly. “Sorry for the wait. I guess you got time to.. clean up.” He flashed an uncertain, crooked grin. “This elderly lady got me talking when I got lost.”

“Mrs. Graves? I love her! Isn’t she just a doll?” Lance beamed, wedging his way between his friend and the door.

“She’s really very sweet,” Keith answered, eyes wandering around Lance's living room. It was fairly neat and fit in with a blue-gray color scheme. Keith was curious who chose the decor. The layout was a little cramped, but the overall living vicinity had enough room for well over four people. “Nice place you’ve got,” Keith commented, and then, “you didn't tell me you had roommates.”

Lance shrugged sheepishly. “Never got the chance. Sorry about that…” He chuckled. “Hunk and Pidge. The names tell you which is which, I guess.”

“Do they really?” Keith looked from Lance, to Hunk, to Pidge, and then back at Lance again.

“Well, Hunk was just a name he got back when we were kids. I can barely remember his real name,” Lance laughed weakly.

“ _Hey!_ ” Hunk called from behind, sounding somewhat offended.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I know it’s Garrett!”

“That's my _last_ name!”

Lance looked disoriented at this new information.

“And... Pidge?”

“She’s just tiny. The youngest of all our friends, and the shortest.”

She looked unamused and cut in, “I’m only a few years younger than you guys.”

“She’s our kid,” Lance spoke as if Pidge wasn’t listening.

Keith nodded in understanding, venturing a little grin between the three.

Lance stepped back and cleared a space in the door. “I must be crazy, come in!” He ushered Keith in insistently, choosing a spot on the couch next to Pidge and having him sit. “Can I interest you in something to drink?”

Keith thought about it for a moment. Would it be ruder to take from Lance or decline the offer entirely? Maybe they could bond over a love of.. water. That didn't seem very interesting. Though, Keith was a bit parched from the incessant chatting with Mrs. Graves. “... Water, please. If that isn’t too much trouble.” He kept his eyes down.

Lance, with a skip, went to the open-format kitchen and fetched the aforementioned drink. Keith watched as he took out a fresh bottle of water, the kind with the sealed sports cap. “Keith! Go long!” Lance called and tossed the bottle. As unprepared as Keith was, he still had quick enough reflexes and caught the bottle above his head with one hand. He felt rather proud of himself. It never hurt to show off a little.

Lance seemed impressed, downing some of the water from his own bottle. “Nice! Do you do sports?”

“I did Taekwondo for, like, seven years. Tried to learn judo, too... But I picked up Taekwondo easier.” He shrugged. “You?”

Keith took a good look at Lance from his position in the living room, Lance leaned up against the kitchen counter. He was all legs, thin and wiry, and almost a little bouncy, too. Skin a rich shade of caramel, but eyes like the sea. He was a bit taller than Keith, a bit skinnier. Nice smile, and _very_ expressive eyebrows. Keith was glad to have an excuse to stare.

Then Lance strode over and sat down next to Keith with a thump in the cushions, grinning widely. “I always played goalie or defense on a soccer team. Only played on a team in high school, though.”

“Why not elementary or junior high?” Keith had friends who played soccer, but it was more often than not that they'd say they started at a young age and advanced from there.

“I wasn't on a team when I was younger but my friends back in Cuba and I would sometimes have our own games. That’s how I got so good at it. Except we didn’t really take positions. It was more of a take-the-ball-and-score sort of thing. You know? There wasn’t any flow to the game.”

Keith smiled fondly. “I get that. You lived in Cuba?”

“Born and raised, baby.” Lance flashed a toothy grin. “I moved to the States when I was.. I think, twelve?”

“Eleven and seven months,” Hunk clarified from his seat in an arm chair, not even taking the time to look up.

“Been best buds ever since.”

Keith uncapped his water bottle and took a hasty sip, rolling the dampened plastic in his palms after. “So... did you want to go to that café still?” He felt uncomfortable and rude interrupting Lance’s household, particularly with his friends, seeing as he’d barely said a word to either of them yet.

“Oh! Right!” Lance made a goofy face and pushed up from the couch. “I got carried away, didn’t I?”

“No..- yes, but I don’t mind the talking.” Keith seemed hesitant on speaking the truth, trying his hardest to keep polite around the new people. Pidge was almost unforgiving and Keith, even if he couldn’t see it, felt the eyes on him from afar. Hunk, although busy with his games, took note of Keith’s every word, something flickering behind his eyes when Keith said something he deemed critical or noteworthy. He figured Hunk was storing this information away for later use, possibly looking out for his friend.

Lance beamed at what he took as an offer and made the next suggestion. “We’ll talk over coffee, then.”


	2. In which Keith finds his muse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a date, but also it's kind of a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see if you can catch some pop culture references here and there.

  
The sun hung low in the sky, painting it with gentle sweeps of gold and pink. Lance could point out a star or two if he squinted hard enough. He hadn’t noticed his narrowed eyes until Keith pointed it out. They laughed it off and the silence set back in. Soon enough, though, the café came into view. Lance held the door open like a perfect gentleman. Keith didn’t notice.

The service line was short, despite only one barista at the counter. She worked quickly, pushing back a blonde ringlet over her shoulder. Keith was pulled out of his trance when Lance piped up. “What’s your preference?”

Keith glanced at him oddly. “My what?” What an odd question to ask so early in a relationship… if Keith could call it that. Lance was merely an acquaintance, he kept reminding himself.

“Preference. Like, what kind of coffee do you like?”

 _Oh_. A lightbulb went off in Keith’s head at the clarification. “I like black coffee, a little sugar.”

“You like it bitter?”

“My taste pertains to my personality.” Keith gave a little chuckle. “What about you?”

“I’m not really a coffee person, actually,” Lance answered with a shrug. Keith left it at that and nodded, wondering just what sort of character Lance was.

They reached the register finally, Lance was already smiling. “Nyma!” He placed both hands on the counter, keeled over.

“Hi, Lance!” The barista Nyma was clearly familiar with him. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright.” Lance nodded, grin never faltering. “And you?”

“Busy,” Nyma laughed, “but I get by.” Her eyes landed on Keith. “Brought a new customer?”

Before Lance could reply, Keith said, “I come here in the mornings.” He hadn't seen Nyma working here before, assuming this was because she had a late shift. “Anyway, I’ll take a Caffè Americano.”

“Vanilla Frappe for me,” Lance said, then listed off probably a hundred details Keith couldn't keep track of. Nyma seemed to keep up, though. She took their names and prepared their drinks as Keith tried to spark up some conversation. “So, this Nyma girl. A friend of yours?”

“Sort of,” Lance answered. “More like acquaintances, but closer.”

“So, friends.”

“I guess you could say that.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, but pushed away the urge to continue. “Your drink was pretty specific, too. Any reason for that?”

“Look, Keith. I don't know what you're getting at trying to pry into my life. I just like things done a certain way. Simple as that.”

The typewriter in Keith’s brain was continuously thinking up new questions. Two, then three, four… Lance was confusing. Or maybe he was just stubborn with conversation. But he didn't seem like a very reserved person to Keith. Maybe he was just shy. But then again, what was the difference? A thousand ideas popped into Keith’s head one by one. Luckily, he didn't have a chance to dwell on those when he heard the barista call his name.

They sat outside, illuminated in a warm glow by the setting sun. Keith sipped at his drink in absentminded silence, too cowardly to strike something up with Lance again.

“You have nice hands, you know,” Lance said suddenly, meeting Keith’s eyes.

“I… what?”

“I don't know. They just look nice for hands. Nice nails and slim fingers. Like, some people have really nasty, grubby hands with short nails and fat fingers. Yours aren't, though. I like them.”

“Thank you?” So, Lance had been staring at his hands? Well, Keith couldn't blame him. His hands were constantly raised to bring his drink to his mouth, they were easy to look at.

“And pretty eyes.”

Keith begged to differ. “You sure?”

“They're like looking up at the sky on a clear night.”

Keith flushed three shades of red. He covered his face and forced a laugh. “Thank you, I guess. I don't usually get comments like that.”

“What kind of comments _do_ you get?”

“I don't know, really. Sometimes people ask me what color they are. I tell them I don't really know. Gray, maybe?”

“I think they’re more of a bluish-violet. Like the night sky. I’m not kidding. I see stars in your eyes.” Lance leaned a bit closer, elbows resting on the table.

Keith took a good, long look at Lance’s own shining blue eyes. _Your eyes are like the ocean, and, Lance, I’m lost at sea._ He pushed the thought away and reclined back in his seat.

The silence set in once more, but Lance broke it quickly. “By the way, what’s your last name? I try to keep my phone contacts organized.”

“Kogane. Yours?” Keith stirred at his coffee slowly.

“McClain.” Lance pulled out his phone, typing something in. “How’s ‘Kogane’ spelt?”

“Ko-ga-ne. With an ‘-ne’.”

“So, K-O-G-A-N-E-Y?”

“No ‘Y’.” Keith looked up at Lance, unimpressed. English must not have been Lance’s forte.

“Oh. Gotcha.” He put his phone back after.

Lance took another long drag from his drink, sitting back again. “You mentioned photography earlier. What's that like?”

Keith blinked. “Oh. Well, it's part of my major.” Keith knew he wasn't making any of this interesting.

“What year are you in?”

“Sophomore.”

“What kind of work do you usually do?”

He thought for a moment. “I often work with scenery and people. The kind of things you'd probably see on someone's hipster blog, or something like that.”

“What, for the aesthetic?” Lance laughed a little.

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith couldn't help but join in, amused at how accurate Lance had gotten with a few seconds worth of an explanation. “I tend to stick with darker tones, but focus the main attraction of the image on something more colorful.”

“Do you have any you can show?”

Keith gave a hesitant shrug and pulled out his phone, scrolling through some low-resolution pictures. He held out the device to Lance, the screen set on a lit neon sign, illuminating the brick wall behind it in a white glow. He swiped to another: a city skyline at night, the background an igniting red. And then one more: the silhouette of a man with his head tilted back, black and white with the background a radiating magenta.

“Wow!” Lance gasped. “I really like the one of the guy.”

“That’s my brother, actually,” Keith added, smiling fondly.

“Seriously? That's so cool!” Lance swiped back with his finger. “How did you take the one of the skyline?”

“With a camera.”

“Idiot, I meant how did you get up so high?” Lance rolled his eyes at Keith’s unprovoked antics.

“There's this tall building in the city center and I’ve got a friend who sometimes lets me up on the roof. It's a pretty good stargazing spot when it isn't cold or raining.” He laughed a little.

“Ah,” Lance said and nodded. “You know, if you ever need a model for photos, I’m pretty open to that sort of thing.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” A minute of silence passed. “What do you do? Like, for a living,” Keith asked after, curious if Lance worked or studied or something else.

“Oh, I’m a free _lance_ actor,” Lance chuckled, shrugging lazily. “But I’m studying cinematography and dance, too.”

“Yeah? What've you been in?”

“Uh, nothing… currently. Been in some bit parts in some community theaters, but nothing huge. I’ve got an audition for _42nd Street_ later this month, though.”

“Must be a pretty big company if you're going for a show like that.”

“Mhm, it’s crazy they even got the rights for a big Broadway musical. It won Tony Awards, you know.”

Keith did not know. But it never hurt to pretend he did. He nodded. “A musical, huh. That means you've gotta sing.” He raised an eyebrow. “You good at singing?”

“I’ve got some strong suits,” Lance answered with a nod. “And I’ve been dancing since I could walk. Not to mention I’ve been working in theatre since high school. My résumé is considerable.”

“That's good.” Keith was having a hard time keeping up with the terminology, so he only nodded.

“I think it could be my big break if I actually get a part in a licensed show. Get my face known and all.”

Lance absently slurped at his drink until all that was left was a rather obnoxious and airy sucking sound, which irked Keith. But he was too polite to say anything and instead focused on his own drink for another three minutes worth of uncomfortable silence. He set the plastic cup down and shifted back into the metal chair with a creak, eyes down. He could tell Lance was staring, a haunting blue gaze that sent throbbing pulses through Keith’s veins.

Keith cleared his throat. “Do you, uh.. want to get going now?”

Lance took a moment to respond, like he'd been pulled out of a daze. “Sure.” He stood. _God_ , Keith hated that Lance was taller than him. And by a good two or three inches, too. _Six-foot-whatever._

The sun had set finally. Instead of a sorbet sky, stars were scattered between carelessly placed clouds. The street was lit up with neon signs to little shops, and from a distance, Keith could see little glimmers of light adorning the trees.

“What's that?” Lance noticed a warm glow emitting from a narrow street. The constant bustle of energetic crowds and merchants, clusters of little shops selling anything and everything. The smell of freshly-baked goods and home-cooked meals. Lance was practically drooling.

“Just some street market, I think,” Keith answered nonchalantly.

“Let’s go!”

Keith would have protested if it weren't for Lance dragging him along by the sleeve. He trailed behind closely, keeping up to Lance’s quick pace.

“Wow!” Lance was already halfway to a pastry vender, awestruck by all the sights and smells and sounds.

“Ever been to one of these before?” Keith walked slower now, and Lance's grip soon detached from his clothes.

Lance took a short glance over his shoulder at Keith and shook his head. His smile was blinding and broad, and then it was gone before he strode up to a cart. He eyed each of the goods carefully.

“I recommend the hotteok.” Keith gestured to one of the treats.

Lance's eyes lit up, an electric blue current like a defibrillator through Keith’s heart. “We’ll take two!” Lance paid eagerly and handed a neatly wrapped bun to Keith, who barely had time to fathom Lance’s impulse. It was still hot in his hands, the perfect texture, and entirely decadent.

“Thank you.” Keith took a bite and remembered the years spent in Korea with his mother and Shiro. How they always used to sit on the back porch with a warm cake in hand that the cold evenings could never compare to. Gold and red leaves fluttering to the ground in early autumn. The surrounding sights of vast fields and clouds cloaked in rouge. When Shiro would make a joke about the cricket sounds, and then they'd tell each other about the lazy day they just spent. And then Mother would call them inside and… Keith sighed.

“Something the matter?” Lance cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy and nudged Keith in the shoulder.

“No, it’s nothing. I was just reminiscing.” He waved his bun in hand. “These are really nostalgic for me.”

“About?” Lance asked, already strolling down the street. Keith followed.

“Home. Well, sort of. My mother’s home.”

“What about your old man?”

“I lived with my father when I was older.”

“How old?” Lance seemed curious.

“Probably after nine or ten.” Keith tried to count the years that had passed since he’d been back.

“Where?”

What was this, an interrogation? It sure seemed so. “Texas.”

“ _Oh_ , you’re a yankee boy. A rootin’ tootin’ cowboy from the Lone Star State.”

Keith wasn't amused. “Shut up.” He glared. “I was born in Yangpyeong.”

“Eh?” Lance was clueless. Keith couldn't blame him.

“South Korea. In one of those little village provinces.”

“But you were raised in Texas.”

“Partly,” he clarified.

“Your new nickname is Lone Star and don't try to argue with me,” Lance said, a smarmy grin plastered across his face. _You've got to be kidding me._ Keith huffed before Lance spoke again. “Anyway, what about your brother?”

“What makes you so interested in my brother?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all. Making conversation.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. He wasn't buying it. The same excuse he used when prying into Keith’s personal life before. “Shiro was born in the States.”

“What kind of a name is Shiro? Doesn't really sound Korean.”

“McClain doesn't sound very Latino either…” Keith glared, then added, “We have the same father, but different mother. His mom was from Japan.”

“Point taken.” Lance backed off. “Why’d your family move back?” He was pressing too much.

“You don't unlock my family backstory until you reach friendship level three.”

“What level am I _currently?_ ”

“Negative two.”

“Cruel.” Lance stuck out his lower lip.

Keith smiled a little. “Or you can buy me a root beer and I might reconsider.” Keith glanced to a conveniently-placed vending machine.

“Clever kid.” Lance, two steps ahead of Keith, made a beeline for it.

“I’m not a kid,” Keith protested, chasing after him as if walking a dog on a leash.

“I’m older than you. That makes you the kid.” Lance didn't glance back at him.

“By how much?”

“What are you, nineteen?”

“Twenty.”

“I’m twenty-one. Bow down.” Lance smirked.

“Cocky bastard,” Keith cursed under his breath with a roll of his eyes, though a slight smile remained on his lips.

“What was that?” Lance grinned over his half-eaten pancake.

“Minus three bond points.” Keith chuckled when Lance groaned.

“Damn. One wrong move and I get this.” He rolled his eyes, fishing some coins out of a pocket and inserting them one-handed into the vending slot. Pressed a few buttons and took a step closer when he heard the drinks drop. He tossed Keith a root beer, then shook his own bottle of grape soda before popping off the cap and letting the contents fizz over.

Keith frowned, wiping a drop or two of the liquid off his cheek. “Don't you think grape soda tastes like cough medicine?”

“I like it.” Lance shrugged and took a gulp.

“Root beer is better.”

“It tastes like poison. Is that a Texan thing, liking poison? What next, are you gonna be mixing snake venom in your nail polish?”

“What?” Keith squinted.

“Never mind.” Lance waved it off, strolling to the next cart. Next thing Keith knew, Lance was shoving a paper food boat in his face. It was filled with something… greasy. He gave Lance a look of protest. “C’mon. Just try one. They're really good!” Lance pushed the boat closer. “Please?” He stuck out his bottom lip until Keith took one of the fried.. somethings.

“What are these?” Keith inspected it. It smelled oily, but had a faint stench of sweetness, like an overripe fruit that had been sitting out in the sun too long and lost its flavor. He turned it over, picking at the golden-brown crust.

“Comfort food. Now eat it or I’ll personally feed it to you.”

Keith begrudgingly popped the food in, chewing gingerly. _Wow_ , Lance was right about these being good. It practically melted in his mouth, a mix of oversweet and slight savory. Almost like caramel. “What _are_ these?” Keith asked, mouth full.

“ _Maduros!_ ” Lance was overjoyed to see Keith didn't hate them.

“In English?”

“Fried plantains. But not when they're green, because those turn chalky and tough when you fry them. These are overripe and black.”

Keith swallowed. “They're good. Another?” He reached out and took two more.

Lance smiled and handed the paper boat over. “Glad you like the taste of Cuba.” He took another swing from his soda. “I guess you won't be open to trying my fizzy cough medicine, huh.”

“Don't bet on it,” Keith said and chuckled, downing a fourth plantain already.

Their witty banter continued, Lance stuffed his face with snacks and Keith called him greedy. Lance didn't bring up Keith’s family again, probably hoping to earn sufficient experience points first. The walked and laughed and, in between, Keith took a couple candid photos and Lance just so _happened_ to be in quite a few of them.

 

His phone camera _insisted_ on focusing on Lance, but who was Keith to complain? They were good pictures of a good night and it would be a waste to get rid of such wonderful content. Though, it wasn't until Keith got home and reviewed the night in images that he realized they were so much more than just pictures. They were moments captured and preserved forever. Memories locked in time. Keith scrolled between Lance and his menagerie of snacks, Lance and out-of-render lights, Lance and his bright smile. Keith could practically hear the laughter bubbling out of him in each picture, a brilliant gold aura around him. It was contagious.

In fact, Keith considered the pictures rather useful for an upcoming project. _Pick a theme and stick to it_ , something he’d been prompted to do by an old professor. If only he'd used a professional camera instead. He would have a lot of editing to do before they were turn-in quality. Maybe Lance would make a good model, after all.

Prints. He needed prints of those pictures.

Keith's attention moved to the top of his phone screen when a new notification came in. From Lance:

 

 **L:** _hey hey u free tomrrow_

  
**L:** _do you suck at bowlinf_

  
**L:** _bowlinf*_

  
**L:** _i did it again._

  
**L:** _bowlinf_

  
**L:** _BOWKINF._

  
**L:** _keith hepl_

 

Keith chuckled at the numerous messages, reading each one as it came in.

 **K:** _Lance, you're blowing up my phone._

 **K:** _It’s two in the morning._

  
**K:** _But yeah. I’m actually pretty good at bowling._

  
**L:** _my place at 7 k_

  
**K:** _You're lucky I don't have plans._

  
**K:** _Now get some sleep, you'll be exhausted in the morning._

  
**L:** _no_

 

Keith rolled his eyes and sent in another,

 

 **K:** _Goodnight, Lance._

  
**L:** _gnight babe_

  
**K:** _I’m blushing._

 

Keith was _not_ blushing.

 

 **L:** _;)_

 

Keith promised himself he'd go to bed after a little editing on his laptop. Instead of sticking to that, he crashed at three with a scalding hot Mac on his stomach and Lance’s shining grin lit up on the screen.


	3. In which Keith remembers his camera this time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bowling, and some Bonding Moments™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the long hiatus, i trusted myself not to break (personal) deadlines, but i did. i've had exams, just gotten out of work, a vacation. i've just been really preoccupied and i didn't have a whole lot of inspiration to write this chapter. 
> 
> i also went bowling midway through writing this chapter (actually after i wrote the bowling scene), so there's that. i came dead last. 
> 
> there's a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter, so be on the lookout for little tidbits that might give you hints.

 

Lance began his day with a bowl of shredded wheat cereal; the overly-sweet value brand kind. The bland flavor wasn't exactly his favorite, but it would suffice until lunch. He glanced to the clock hanging on the wall, somewhere between 11:00 and 11:05.

“You're up early,” Pidge said, sauntering out of the hall. She smirked.

Lance turned around and made a point of rolling his eyes. “I could say the same for you. Hunk still asleep?”

“Left early.” She shook her head, ruffling through the cereal box and grabbing a handful. Lance scrunched his nose up at the dry sound.

“Where to?”

She gave a shrug. “Probably doing Hunk things.”

“You're a great help.” Lance sighed, rubbing the corner of his eye.

“What time were you home last night?”

“...Eleven?” Lance gave a wild guess. “I dunno. But it was fun. We went to this market and ate good food. Keith took some pictures and stuff. He’s a photography major, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? You seem to like this guy, huh?”

“You don't?”

“Don't know him.” Pidge hopped up on the counter, picking at some of the flaky sugar on a wheat cluster.

“Hm.” Lance gave a nod. “He's fun. Kind of awkward, but fun.”

“Is ‘fun’ the only word you can think of?” Pidge asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose lazily.

“I'm half asleep.”

“It's evident. So, this Keith dude. He's fun. What else?”

“He's Korean, but raised in Texas. But he's not the kinda Texan to be using all that slang and junk. And he's got a brother. They have the same eyebrows.”

“Same eyebrows?” She laughed a little. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. I saw a picture of him and they sorta look alike. But they have different moms,” Lance drawled, chin resting in his palm. He wasn't exactly sticking to a clear theme in his rambling. “Keith likes bitter coffee and root beer. I bet he's the kinda guy to eat toothpaste.”

“What?”

Lance shrugged a sort of “I dunno” shrug. He stirred the cereal, which had gone to a soggy mush in his milk. “You and Hunk are gonna come bowling tonight.”

“Gee, thanks. Making dates for us. What if we already have plans?”

“Do you?” Lance smiled and sat up a little. He already knew the answer, but it was fun to rub in.

“ _No_ …” Pidge averted her gaze.

“Exactly. You're coming bowling. I want to get to know him better. You should, too.”

“Don't you think you're trying too hard?” Pidge looked back and popped in a mini wheat. “Give him a break, you _just_ met him.”

“I will, I will. But he’s not like any of our other friends… he’s harder to talk to, but I cracked him open and got him chatting. I’m a Keith-whisperer.”

“Just don't push things.”

Lance nodded and stood, moving to the window to finally pull open the curtains for the day. Keith was in his usual spot by the window, laptop resting on his stomach as he typed away. It was a wonder he’d never noticed Keith’s presence before. Lance wondered how long he’d been living in the next apartments over. Lance smiled to himself and watched for a moment. He met a pair of steely eyes and smiled wider, waving. Keith must've noticed the flicker of movement from the side of his eye, and soon his eyes met Lance’s brilliant blue.

Lance found his phone and sent out a message, all while keeping eye contact with Keith.

 

 **L:** _whatcha typin?_

 

Keith didn't seem amused to find an incoming message.

 

 **K:** _Thesis outline._

 **L:** _fancy_

 

Lance was already typing out another message when Keith’s came in before.

 

 **K:** _Can't talk right now._

 

And then a second,

 

 **K:** _I need this done before tonight. I’ll be over at 6._

 **L:** _missin u <33_

 

Lance’s day went by slowly. He reviewed a script for an upcoming project in class, finished writing a paper analyzing the symbolic elements in E. Rostand’s writing, and made a sandwich. Simple things. Typical Lance things.

Pidge stayed cooped up in her bedroom. Occasionally Lance would hear a mechanical click or whir, but he thought nothing of it. Pidge was most likely working on that little triangle doohickey again. “Rover”, she called it. Hunk didn't return back until around 4pm. “Doing Hunk things” was a plausible excuse, in Pidge’s words. Lance didn't question it, instead happy to have his friend’s company again. The same conversation went on as Lance fawned to Hunk about Keith.

“And I said to Pidge, ‘Oh, yeah. He’s the kinda guy to eat toothpaste’, and she looked at me all funny. But this Keith-guy, I really like him. He’s weird, kinda quiet, has a strange sense of humor, but I think he means well, y’know?”

“I know,” Hunk answered with an endearing smile. “You never told me what he looks like. Only that he’s got his brother’s eyebrows.”

“Hunk, you were _literally_ there when he was sitting in our living room.”

“I barely said a word to him, let alone looked at him.” Hunk made up an excuse and shrugged it off. It was his petty little way of hearing Lance’s interpretation about his new friend.

“Oh, well… he’s got these.. these eyes that just… And this hair. Wow.”

“Lance, buddy, you're not giving me much to work with here.” Hunk patted him on the shoulder.

“I wasn't finished,” Lance defended himself, although he would admit his first answer was a little vague. “His hair’s kind of long… it's a little unfashionable. Dark. A mullet,” he explained, dwelling over his new friend’s appearance. “Like John Oates but without the mustache, and his hair is less curly. Wait, it's more like Rob Lowe if I think about it… and Rob Lowe is so pretty. Although Keith tied it up when I was with him. And his hands are really nice. Kind of girly hands. Long nails, slim fingers… Pale skin, and his eyes. _God_. It’s like stargazing on a clear night.”

“Cute.” Hunk chuckled a little, his eyes smiling too.

“He is.”

 

Keith showed up at Lance’s place on time, having remembered _C-24_ and not _C-16_. Lance eagerly awaited his arrival, all dolled up with cologne and tight jeans, with a black T-shirt that read, “BOTH PLEASE” in pink, purple, and blue lettering. And it was slimming, too. Hunk and Pidge knew quite well what it meant, but Lance was curious if Keith was cultured enough to catch on. It was a hint.

Keith, on the other hand, smelled like shampoo and musk, and wore the same jacket he met Lance in the day before. Thank God for washing machines. Nothing special, but at least he looked presentable. His expensive camera hung around his neck on a strap. _Ca-mer-a_. Keith couldn't hear it any different now, thanks to Mrs. Graves.

Lance answered the door with that same welcoming grin from before. “Evening, Lone Star.”

 _Fuck_. Keith thought Lance had forgotten about that. Guess it was sticking. “Drop the nickname.” He rolled his eyes.

“Alright, Kogane. Don't get your knickers in a twist.”

Keith backed out of the doorway as the group filed out. He gave a little wave to Lance’s two roommates.

“Good to see you again, Mullet.” Pidge’s lips curled into a sly little grin.

Did Lance’s quirky family have some kind of nickname thing going on? Keith was lost. He dismissed the acknowledgement with a nod.

They walked to the bowling alley, which just so happened to be right down the block. The weather was a little overcast and Keith hoped it wouldn't rain on the way home. His streak of bad luck had other promises, most likely.

The alley was one of the older kinds, where the mechanical pinsetters worked slower, and every now and then the machine would groan with exhaust as it set the pins in order. The place had a nice traditional feel to it, with blinking neon lights and an arcade off to the side. The alleys themselves were polished and gleaming, the dim evening lighting pouring in from the windows and the artificial neon reflecting over the shiny wooden paths.

Keith realized just how tall Hunk was when he requested a whopping size 13 shoe. Lance came in at an 11, and Keith sized in at a.. 9. Big whoop. Pidge came in at something like a 6 or 7, though Keith wasn't sure what that was converted into men’s shoe sizes. Small, surely. She wasn't too tall, but she had broad shoulders and legs longer than her torso.

Lance nudged Keith as they pulled their shoes on. “Hey. You know what big feet means?” He rolled his right ankle, venturing a little wink.

“ _Gross_.” Keith wasn't amused. Why would Lance mention a thing like that, anyway? What was he getting at..?

Both Pidge and Keith took nine pound balls (which made him feel a little shrimpy, matching with a girl. It was a kick in Keith’s masculinity), Lance took a ten, and Hunk settled in with an eleven pound ball. He was strong, and it was obvious when Hunk’s thick biceps showed through his sleeves. Keith wasn't sure why he took such detailed note of all the sizes, but he felt it would later play a part in something. Their scores, probably.

Keith went to the bathroom to wash his hands and returned to find that Lance had already put a nickname for everyone in the digital score-keeper. Hunk was “Sunshine”, Pidge was “Pidgeon”, Lance was, “The Tailor”, and Keith was… “Lone Star”. The good ol’ LS. Just dandy. At least it wasn't something worse like “queef” or “mullet-man”.

“The hell kinda nickname is yours, Lance?”

“Well, they call me ‘The Tailor’ because of how I.. thread the needle.” He winked.

“‘They’ is no one,” Hunk clarified.

“Let me live, Hunk. Don't rain on my parade, _Sunshine_.” Lance glared and took his ball. He strode to the alley and shot the ball. A perfect stri...never mind. A seven-ten split. Lance retrieved his ball, a glittering royal blue shade, making his way back to the alley. He took a deep breath, aiming, and shot. Now that was a perfect spare.

Hunk cheered him on and went up next. Scored an eight. Pidge a nine. Keith a one and a gutterball. He swallowed thickly and accepted defeat. And he’d told Lance he was quite good. So much for that hope.

The next four rounds passed easily. Lance was, of course, in the lead, followed by Pidge, Hunk, and Keith dead last.

“Where's your skill, Lone Star? I thought you said you were good at this,” Lance teased Keith with a nudge, obviously gloating in his victory.

“I’m just trying to get into the swing of it, alright? I haven't gone bowling since I lived with my dad.” Keith flung the ball lazily, having given up. There was no way he would be able to catch up now. His ball begged to differ. It sped into the pins like lightning and earned Keith a strike.

Lance’s eyes widened. “Nice one, Keith!” He offered a high five. Keith took it with a smile. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

The next four rounds went by with satisfaction. Keith had a winning streak of strikes now. He and Lance were tied with a hundred-something points each. But Lance one-upped him the last round and finished with a score of 155. Pidge had 146, Hunk 139. Keith was at 147, and on his last redeeming round. He wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get four rounds of gutters in a row and still catch up to Lance.

Keith focused the ball, taking a stride as he shot the ball. Momentum must have thrown him off, because the next thing he knew, Keith was on the slippery polished floor, and crushing his left ankle. He seemed unfazed for a moment, before the wave of aching pain hit him.

“Keith, you did it! You won!” The voice’s cheered him on. A strike. Nice. Keith wasn't particularly concerned about it at this point. All he could think about was how his ankle throbbed under his weight.

Lance’s voice rang out over the others. “Oh, whoa. You slipped? Guess that floor is even greasier than your mullet, Lone Star.”

“Not the time, Lance. Can someone help me up? I think I’ve sprained my ankle,” Keith said calmly, taking in the colors around him. If only he could get the same raw psychedelic effect with a camera… which reminded Keith that he hadn't taken any pictures of this night. Shame.

Hunk was there to lift him onto the bench and check the injury, which was already swelling. Keith’s head lulled back, slightly dizzy with the distraction of sweltering pain.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur. Keith was in his own shoes now, and was riding on Hunk’s back down the street. It was only then that Keith realized it was raining, and rather heavy, at that. Lance and Pidge trailed behind, snapping pictures with Keith’s camera. He was too distracted with pain to chastise them for it. Maybe he'd find something useful in the shots later. He could tell they were talking, but the ringing in his ears was too intense to separate from their voices.

Hunk took Keith back to their place, where Lance doted on him with pillows and painkillers, and Pidge made crude jokes about the night. Keith’s bad ankle was propped up on the couch with a pillow, his head resting on the opposite end.

Lance’s voice faded in gradually, “Keith? Buddy? You doing okay?”

“What?” The words went in one ear and came out the other.

“Oh. You _are_ awake. I was beginning to think you were one of those freaks of nature who slept with their eyes open.” He laughed easily, a warm, comforting laugh that Keith couldn't help but smile fondly at.  
  
“Not in the slightest,” Keith answered half-coherently. “It's just a sprain,” he added, as if it weren't obvious already. Some ice and a few Tylenol would do the trick.

“I know, Keith. I know,” Lance said and smiled. It was the last thing he saw before he crashed on Lance’s couch. He blinked slowly, soon shutting his eyes completely and dozing off.

 

Keith woke up curled under a heavy blanket on an unfamiliar couch that made his neck a little stiff. He almost forgot what had happened until the aching rush flooded over him once more. He groaned and sat up from the couch, bending his neck this way and that to alleviate the tightness in his muscles. Keith must have had some odd thought processes, because the first thing he thought of was not about last night’s circumstances, but of Lance and Pidge messing around on his camera. He was petty, so what?

Luckily, his pride and joy was placed neatly on the coffee table for Keith to easily reach. He took it and switched it on, scrolling through the recent photos. Most of them were of Lance and Pidge goofing off and pointing at dumb street signs and bending their arms in weird ways, but they were cute nonetheless. The majority of them were blurred and probably unusable, but Keith would keep them on the drive until he could make better use of the miscellaneous images.

He was flipping through the pictures when he came across one particularly interesting. A photo of his own rear end hanging off of Hunk’s back. And not just that, but Lance pointing at it like it was some kind of exhibition. Keith wasn't sure if he should appreciate Lance’s sense of humor or to feel insulted by it. Despite his dilemma, he uttered a light laugh at the photo.

“About time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty,” Lance’s voice startled Keith from behind. He wore a pair of boxers covered in bright red lobsters and a grey tank top. He had blue slippers on in the shape of cats, and a lackadaisical grin.

“Oh. Is it late? Sorry.. I was a little out of it there.” Keith relaxed and sunk back into the cushions. It was eleven in the morning, or so the digital clock on his camera said. “Guess I overstayed my welcome, huh,” he pointed out with a weak grin.

“Nah, it's cool. You got hurt, so we took care of you.”

“Thanks.” Keith paused, still half-asleep. “How did it happen, again?”

“You scored a strike after falling on your ankle. You won the game, you know.” Lance smiled and moved to sit next to Keith, who obliged and moved his legs to the best of his ability to make room for the other.

“I did? Cool.” Keith said breathily. “Didn't I majorly fuck up on, like, the first four rounds?”

“Yep. All gutters.”

“Nice.” Keith laughed.

“You hungry?” Lance perked up, eyes bright and energetic.

“Somewhat,” Keith answered, his head lulling back on the cushions again.

“Pancakes good?”

“Perfect.”

It was at that point that Hunk emerged from the hallway, pushing his bangs back with one hand. “Mornin’, Keithy-boy. How you feeling?”

“Sucky,” Keith admitted and they both laughed. “I’m just sore, that's all.”

“Yeah, you took a pretty hard fall last night. You're lucky you didn't crack it and have to go to the ER.”

Keith hummed a little in response and set his camera down on the table, adjusting his propped up leg. Lance had since left to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast. He danced a little, apron swaying at his hips.

“Keith, how do you like your eggs?”

“Poached.”

“Ooh, picky picky. You're lucky I'm a good cook.” Lance got to work after that.

Pidge showed up in the hallway, a little disoriented, rubbing at her eyes. “Mm..morning.” Her hair was a frazzled mess, same as Keith’s. Maybe it was that they shared the same choppy haircut, although Pidge’s was more feminine… and also not a mullet.

Keith gave an idle wave, watching as Pidge took the seat Lance had previously been in, while Hunk took the large armchair closer to the window. It was then that Keith noticed just how well Lance’s apartment’s view was into his own living room. Keith could see the worn-out couch, and the little light-up stars on a chain and a bulletin board with pictures of home, the battered-up coffee table in the middle stacked with books he hadn't opened in months, his carpet with questionable stains that had come from his basement back in Texas. From his point of view, it looked a little messy and just slightly ransacked. Everything was mismatched, but it didn't seem to be a problem. It was Keith’s style.

Things passed quietly while Lance made breakfast. Pidge sat slumped over in a half-asleep daze, Hunk got in his morning GameBoy session. Keith took in the surroundings, all while ignoring the throbbing in his ankle.

The Cuban returned with a tray of plates, setting one by one in front of everyone. “And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as Lance Charles McClain proudly presents… your breakfast!"

“Lance,” Hunk groaned. “It's too early for showtunes.”

“Agreed.” Pidge came to life when food was set in front of her. “And using your full name sounds so extra.”

“You know me so well, Pidgeon.” Lance winked, sitting down with his own plate after pushing his way between Keith and Pidge.

And then they ate, Lance humming “Be Our Guest” through bites of pancakes. Keith couldn't help but imagine what it sounded like to actually hear Lance sing. And from what he was already hearing, the boy didn't sound half bad. He did mention having an audition for a musical soon, surely he had the talent. A triple threat, that's what Lance was.

Keith stayed a little while longer, before deciding it was time to leave and attempting to stand from the couch. Lance volunteered valiantly to walk Keith home, so Keith accepted.

 

“Thank you, by the way. If I didn't already say it a thousand times,” Keith said, leaning against the door to his apartment. “For bowling, and taking care of me. Breakfast. For all of that.”

Lance offered a warm smile. “It's no problem. I really don't mind. We got to spend more time together that way.” He leaned in, pressing a hand to the wall for balance. “Take care of yourself, okay? Just text me if you need anything.” He gave a thumbs up and took a step back.

Keith’s face felt warm. “I will, I will. You sound like my mom.” He rolled his eyes a little. It was an odd way to think, having his friend be compared to his mother. Though, he was fond of both, so he supposed it made sense. “Anyway, I should probably be taking weight off this.” He looked to the side, and then at his foot, which was barely propped up against the wall. And it still hurt like hell.

“Right, um-” It seemed like Lance had something to say.

“ _Um?_ ” Keith echoed, brow raised.

“I could help you get situated? Inside, I mean. Not, like, out here. That would be silly.” Lance forced out a chuckle. He rubbed at the back of his neck, chin jutting out with the action.

“If you like,” Keith answered vaguely. Again, Lance was both a mystery and a mess of contradictions. He was hard to read, yet he wore he heart on his sleeve. He was just… confusing. Maybe not to some, but to Keith, he was strange and intriguing. Which made him wonder, was that was Lance thought of him?

Keith ushered Lance inside, hobbling after the other on his one good foot. A few steps into his living room, and Keith was already feeling more at ease. That was, until he put pressure on his left ankle and yelped out in pain, losing his footing and toppling over. Except, he never hit the ground, instead ramming into Lance’s shoulder. Luckily, Lance was on high alert and caught Keith under the arms.

They stayed there for far too long. Keith was motionless, and Lance was shaking just slightly with the exertion.

“You okay?” Lance asked from above.

“I’m okay,” Keith replied, voice hoarse. He was bent back strangely, his weight supported by Lance and his right heel. A weird angle. He craned his neck back, glancing at the other and venturing a weak smile. Lance returned it, crooked and shy. He dragged Keith’s half-limp body to the couch and set him down.

“Good?”

“Good.” Keith was relaxing into his seat, when he noticed Lance wandering into the hallway.

“You got a first aid kit in here?” he called from what Keith assumed was his bathroom.

“No.”

“Lame.”

“What do you need it for?”

“You, idiot. You've got a swollen ankle and I've had enough of those to know what to do with ‘em.”

“How so?”

“I'm sporty, but also clumsy. Not a good combination.” Lance popped out from the hallway, shuffling to Keith’s front door. And then he left without another word.

“Bye..?”

Keith settled in within a few minutes, switching on his television and browsing through the channels  
tediously.

And then his doorknob jiggled, and Lance was back inside with a big plastic box balancing in his arms. “First aid,” he said and sat next to Keith.

“You really are something…” Keith said breathily.

Lance fished through and pulled out some medical gauze, stretching it a little before making quick work of Keith’s ankle. Keith winced at the tight wraps around it, teeth clenched through the pain. Through the throbbing, he could feel it growing less painful. Lance finished wrapping and stood, strolling to Keith’s kitchen and to the icebox. He had a cloth in hand, and filled it with a handful of ice cubes. He returned, and set the clump neatly over Keith’s foot.

“Good?”

“Very.”

“Then my work here is done. I’m a man of many talents, I’ll have you know.” Lance was grinning smugly. A shit-eating grin that said, “What would you do without me, Keith, baby?”

“That you are.”

“I’ll see ya’ later, Keithers. Call me.” He winked, finger-gunning his way out of Keith’s apartment.

Something about Lance’s tone made Keith consider the phrase. Call him for what? Doesn't matter, Keith would be perfectly fine on his own, as he always had been.

 

About fifteen minutes later, Keith received a message, his phone chiming as it came in. 

 

 **L:** _we should totally buy a ladder and connect our two apartments thru the window_

 

Keith looked up and outside, seeing Lance grinning through the window.

 

 **K:** _I think we should totally not._

 **L:** _smh ur no fun_  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had such a hard time writing this chapter. the chapter itself was actually already started way back in March (if you couldn't tell, i actually started this fic in December and wrote the first two chapters by February), and somehow i just had issues with putting my ideas in writing. 
> 
> yes, i know this ended flatly. it's 3am on a wednesday(?) night, gimme a break. i wasn't going to write anything after the scene where keith crashes on the couch after screwing up his ankle, but instead i wrote 3 (Three) extra scenes. mostly because the word count wasn't satisfactory. so this was an extra long chapter. i may make edits to this in the future.


End file.
